Mom lifted her water glass to her lips and took a leisurely sip. “You can talk to him about it this weekend. He’s picking you up Friday after school. Don’t forget to pack a bag.”

Karina shook her head and stood up from the kitchen stool. “I’m done. I have homework to do,” she said, leaving her half-eaten dinner behind.

Living with Mom was like living with a ghost who operated in her own ethereal sphere, making her presence known on occasion. It was no picnic, but Karina didn’t love going to Dad’s place either. He loved his fancy hotel apartment, but Karina found it depressing. All the units were identical, right down to the green and gold drapery. There were no other families living at the hotel, and it felt awkward to have her friends over. Dad had encouraged her to have a swim party there for her birthday, but she hadn’t been in a pool since Prem, and went out of her way to avoid the one at the hotel. The last time she’d inadvertently passed it, when Dad had taken her to the gym, the smell of chlorine gave her heart palpitations.

On weekends with her dad, they followed a routine: dinner at a restaurant, room service for breakfast, and afternoons at his golf club, where he tried to teach her how to play. She didn’t look forward to it, but the whole arrangement served her purposes, giving her the freedom to do what she wanted. Dev Uncle, on a recent Skype call from London, encouraged Mom to give her more independence. “Sachin and Smita are riding the tube to school by themselves, and they’re only ten and twelve,” he boasted about her cousins. “You can’t constrain her, Jaya. You have to let her grow up.” Karina didn’t tell Mom that Dad went through a few bottles of wine every weekend, and she didn’t mention to Dad that Mom stayed so late in Prem’s shrine that Karina often made herself cheese toast for dinner. Everyone in her family had their secrets, and Karina became practiced at keeping them.

When the pressure inside her grew to be too much, Karina retrieved her supplies from the back of the vanity drawer, her anticipation building. She laid her materials out in the same way each time, this ritual itself becoming part of the process. There was a small towel, an unwrapped bandage, safety pins, tissues and a bottle of disinfectant left over from when she’d had her ears pierced. She always started with the small safety pin, unlatching it and lodging the clip under her thumbnail for the dull pain. Then she wiped the sharp tip with disinfectant and drew a thin line across her inner thigh, increasing the pressure until blood appeared. For a while, this one cut was enough to reach the feeling she was seeking—a flood of relief, even contentment. For a few moments after making the cut, her body felt right and her mind was at peace. She tried to make that feeling last as long as she could. Sometimes, one cut wasn’t enough and she had to do it again. Eventually, she began to use the bigger safety pin with its thicker tip. It turned out it didn’t matter that she had rid herself of Prem’s Swiss Army knife, and now she regretted losing that last piece of him.